Chapter Twenty-Three #2
It’s just as I remember it. The leaves on the tree that grows up through the staircase have turned from green to brilliant
orange. They flutter gently through beams of golden sunlight, from the eaves to the black-and-white checkered floors. The
front doors to the gravel drive are wide open, letting in the cool autumn breeze.
It smells just like how I remember it, too, a mix of damp earth and floor polish.
There is no sense of relief, though. This is not meant to be a happy homecoming.
Emmett takes one step into the foyer, and I make no attempt to follow him before I am wrenched backward. Our eyes meet, and the space between us is charged with all the time we wanted but will not get.
Queen Mor grips my hand tighter and yanks me off of my feet.
I don’t even have the time to gasp before I go tumbling back through the open door to the Otherworld.
“I’m sorry!” I scream. If he can’t forgive me, I hope he at least understands, in time.
I hear one last thing: Emmett screaming my name.
Mor and I land with a thud in the great hall of the castle. The sky is dark and a revel is in full swing around us.
The band whines to a halt and the crowd gasps as they see Mor and me, fighting like alley cats in the middle of the ballroom.
I land a blow to her stomach and she jerks me back by my hair hard enough that her hand comes away with a fistful of it.
She holds me down, but I buck my hips and roll, briefly escaping, before she scrambles to her feet and brings her foot down
on my hand, hard, shattering the delicate bones and pinning me to the floor. My scream echoes off the rafters.
Maybe it’s her immortal strength, but it isn’t much of a fight after that. For all my kicking and punching and biting, she
hauls me to my feet, pins my hands behind my back, and pushes me toward the dais at the end of the room. I never stood a chance
against her. I knew that.
Sitting in twin thrones are Bram and my sister.
My sister’s face is parchment white, her hands gripping the arms of her seat, but Bram looks on with curious amusement.
Mor kicks the back of my legs, sending me to my knees. I try not to grimace as bone strikes marble floor.
I test the joints of my hand, but they scream in pain, completely useless. I say a small prayer of gratitude that it was the nondominant one she shattered.
“My, what exciting party crashers,” Bram declares.
“If you ever wanted proof of my loyalty to you, here it is,” Mor snarls, standing above me. “Your insolent wife came to me,
begging me to help her and Emmett De Vere escape. She threatened to kill me if I didn’t once again lock the door between our
worlds.”
Someone in the crowd boos and there’s another smattering of nervous laughter.
But my eyes are trained on my sister. I mouth, I’m sorry.
Tears well in her eyes.
I love you.
She shakes her head and mouths Why? in return.
I’m not sure what she means. Why did I leave her? Or why didn’t I tell her what I plan to do?
I suppose the answer to both questions is the same: I was trying to protect her.
“Kill your wife and be done with it,” Mor declares.
Do it, I’m tempted to urge, but for this plan to work, I must be patient.
Bram glances from me to Lydia and then back to me.
Queen Mor leans over to one of the banquet tables. From between the half-melting chocolate cakes, waxy grapes, and picked-over
chicken carcasses, she grabs a paring knife.
It’s a delicate little thing, shiny enough to glint in the faerielight of the ballroom, sharp enough to slide right between
my ribs.
“Please, no.” Lydia’s voice shakes as she swallows down tears. “I’ll do anything, Bram. Just exile her, I beg of you.”
I press my lips together and shake my head, just enough for her to see.
Please, I want to tell her. Let me do this.
“Send her away,” I say to Bram. “Go ahead and kill me, but as one final kindness, do not make my sister watch.” He remains
expressionless.
“Ivy, no. Ivy, please.” Once upon a time, all I wanted was for my sister to fight for me, for any evidence that she loved
me just as completely and wretchedly as I loved her.
But I do not want her to fight here. Showing any level of loyalty to me will only put her at risk. She needs to be somewhere
far from this castle.
Rhion stands on the edge of the dais, his face a cool mask. This wasn’t his plan. It wasn’t even Emmett’s plan. It was the
one I formulated in secret and prayed I’d never have to use.
I turn my gaze toward him and hope he can read the silent plea in my eyes. Take her out of here.
Rhion nods once and his deep voice fills the room. “I’ll take the queen, Your Majesty.” Before Bram has a chance to say no,
Rhion has already scooped Lydia into his arms.
She flails her legs and arms, screaming, “Ivy, Ivy, Ivy!” I’ve never heard a noise like this come out of her. Not even in
the darkest days right after her disappearance did she cry this hard, scream her voice hoarse like this.
I thought seeing visions of Emmett in the cave was the worst emotional pain I’d ever feel, but it’s nothing compared to this.
I want to shut my eyes and cover my ears.
I want to disappear.
I want to be anyone but me.
But I have a job to do.
The door slams behind Lydia and Rhion, though her sobs echo distantly down the hall.
Slowly, Bram rises from his throne and descends the steps of the dais to his mother and me.
Mor tries to pass the knife to him, but he waves it away.
“Bram?” I whisper. I look into his storm-cloud-gray eyes one last time.
I take a step closer to him and extend my hands toward his face, like I’m going in for one last kiss. His eyes soften.
Then I pull Ferrinus from where it’s hidden in the inner pocket of my cloak, and drive it directly into his heart.